Going This Way for X Amount of Time
by LadySilver
Summary: Scott and Isaac both have fathers who aren't worth talking about.


_A/N: Written for the travel_in_packs "Sharpen Your Claws" ficathon based on the prompt: Scott and Isaac both have fathers who aren't worth talking about. Title is from the_ Shriekback _song "All Lined Up."_

**Going This Way For X Amount of Time**

"I used to be human once, right?" Isaac asks, sounding perplexed. He squints into the setting sun and draws his knees up closer to his body.

The roof is warm under their bodies, leftover heat from the day radiating back outwards. Scott likes it up here. It's quiet, the distractions of the house muffled, and he feels like no one can touch him. He has a clear view of the street as far as it goes in both directions and can see anyone long before they see him. He often comes out here when he needs to separate himself from the morass of the day, and while this has always been his private space, he's not surprised nor upset when Isaac appears beside him one day. It happens twice more, the two boys sitting and watching the sunset in silence, before Isaac finally breaks the silence with his question.

"What do you mean?" Scott asks. He can't tell if the question is meant for him or the universe in general, so he opts for the smaller picture.

Isaac's sigh is soft and tired. "Nothing," he says. He folds his arms around his knees and leans into the slope of the roof. Scott is trying to work out if he really did read the intent wrong, and if he should apologize, when Isaac continues: "When I was about three, we went on a picnic. I must have wandered off or something. I guess I got hot or bored? My parents found me sitting in a creek buck naked. The thing is, I don't remember it. What I remember is my parents telling me the story, and sometimes I _think _I remember what really happened, and then I wonder if I'm really remembering anything, or if I've only been told the story so much that my mind is playing tricks." His brow furrows, and his eyes flash yellow as if reflecting the sunset. "When I try to remember what it was like … _before_ … that's how it all feels."

"Yeah," Scott responds. It's not quite the same for him, but then again, he comes home to same house he did before and talks to the same mother he did before and goes to sleep in the same bed he did before. He's surrounded by mementos and markers of who he used to be, which makes the werewolf stuff the part that often feels like a dream. "I used to have asthma," he offers, because the _yeah _wasn't much for Isaac to go on. "I can tell you all about what an asthma attack _is. _I don't think I remember what one _feels _like."

Isaac seems to accept this; they drop back into contemplative silence and watch the sun finish slipping over the horizon. The sky is still backlit in pinks and oranges that spread up, turning into purples and blues in the east. A breeze kicks up, rustling the leaves on the trees and ruffling through their hair. As if choreographed, both boys rack their fingers through their hair, pushing it out of their faces. Isaac huffs out a laugh which Scott matches with a lopsided smile.

"I don't miss it," Isaac says, as if he's just now come to that conclusion. "There's a lot I'm glad to forget." He doesn't elaborate. Doesn't need to. Scott saw the scratch marks in the freezer, and can surmise bruises and punches and cowering in terror. "Not everything, though," Isaac adds, which is a little more surprising. He frees a twig between shingles and starts to scratch at the roof aimlessly. "Do you miss your dad?"

Scott hears his own heart pound a little louder in surprise and he gusts out a breath. Up until that moment, it never crossed his mind that the presence or absence of his father was a thing the other wolves would care about. He peers down the street, his enhanced vision letting him see clearly in the darkness, and watches a neighbor's car turn at the corner and head in the direction of the main road. "Sometimes," he answers. He lies back on the roof, the shingles rough through his thin shirt, and looks up at the sky. Stars are starting to appear and he wonders when there will be enough to make a constellation. "After the divorce, I lived with him for awhile while Mom went to nursing school. Then he started to drink again."

Isaac doesn't interrupt, but Scott imagines that his expression changed. He'd seen it before: the raised eyebrow, the frown, the blush. Everyone was always shocked when they found out about the drinking, as if alcoholism could only affect people they _didn't _know.

"He dropped me off at school one day and told me that he'd pick me up after practice." Scott tucks his hands up under his head and blinks hard, fighting off tears he thought were long used up. "I ended up walking home." He sniffs and tries to hide it with a cough.

"Did he at least call?" Isaac asks. He shifts closer and lies down beside Scott, their shoulders touching.

Scott shrugs and keeps his gaze focused upward so that he doesn't have to see the empty street. The night is already starting to cool and the breeze picks up, rippling over his skin in a constant flow. Soon enough he'll have to go in; for now, the shingles are still warm and Isaac doesn't seem to be in any hurry to leave. "Not yet," he answers.

Isaac breathes in sharply and props his own arms behind his head. "It's funny, the things we remember." He makes a noise like he's going to say more, then doesn't. His heartbeat steadies out, free of expectations or upset, so Scott elects to let the conversation lapse. They've already proven their ability to hang out together without words, so doing it again feels natural. It feels human, and there's not enough of that going around.

END


End file.
